Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott, Bart, Том 3Otis, Broaders, 1837 - Всего страниц: 325 |
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Abbotsford admirable ancient appearance ashore August Ballantyne's beautiful believe boat booksellers Bressay called cape castle cave cavern character coast Constable dear Morritt delighted dine Drumlanrig Drumlanrig Castle Duke of Buccleuch Earl Edinburgh edition Erskine Fair Isle favor feelings feet give Grace Guy Mannering habits hand harbor honor hope island J. B. S. Morritt James Ballantyne Joanna Baillie John Ballantyne kind Kirkwall Lady lake land Lerwick letter light-house literary Loch Loch Eribol London look Lord Byron Lordship ment miles morning never Orkney passed person pleasure poem poet poetical poor present Prince rock Rokeby Rokeby Park romance round Royal Highness Scalloway scene Scotland seems seen shore side sort Stevenson stone suppose thing thought tion tower Triermain truly vessel WALTER SCOTT Waverley wind wish write young Zetland
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Стр. 16 - He was pleased to coincide, and to dwell on the description of your Jameses as no less royal than poetical. He spoke alternately of Homer and yourself, and seemed well acquainted with both; so that (with the exception of the Turks l and your humble servant) you were in very good company.
Стр. 174 - Hath rent a strange and shatter'd way Through the rude bosom of the hill, And that each naked precipice, Sable ravine, and dark abyss, Tells of the outrage still. The wildest glen, but this, can show Some touch of Nature's genial glow ; On high...
Стр. 92 - ... within protect from harms. He can requite thee; for he knows the charms That call fame on such gentle acts as these, And he can spread thy name o'er lands and seas, Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms. Lift not thy spear against the Muses
Стр. 247 - I rummage my brains in vain for what often rushes into my head unbidden, — little traits and sayings which recall his looks, manner, tone, and gestures ; and I have always continued to think that a crisis of life was arrived in which a new career of fame was opened to him, and that had he been' permitted to start upon it, he would have obliterated the memory of such parts of his life as friends would wish to forget.
Стр. 245 - I would have termed Byron a patrician on principle. Lord Byron's reading did not seem to me to have been very extensive either in poetry or history. Having the advantage of him in that respect, and possessing a good competent share of such reading as is little read, I was sometimes able to put under his eye objects which had for him the interest of novelty.
Стр. 245 - I don't expect your conversion to be of such an ordinary kind. I would rather look to see you retreat upon the Catholic faith, and distinguish yourself by the austerity of your penances. The species of religion to which you must, or may, one day attach yourself must exercise a strong power on the imagination.
Стр. 37 - To my Gothic ear, indeed, the Stabat Mater, the Dies Ira>, and some of the other hymns of the Catholic Church, are more solemn and affecting than the fine classical poetry of Buchanan ; the one has the gloomy dignity of a Gothic church, and reminds us instantly of the worship to which it is dedicated ; the other is more like a Pagan temple, recalling to our memory the classical and fabulous deities...
Стр. 246 - He was often melancholy — almost gloomy. When I observed him in this humour, I used either to wait till it went off of its own accord, or till some natural and easy mode occurred of leading him into conversation, when the shadows almost always left his countenance, like the mist rising from a landscape. In conversation he was very animated.
Стр. 30 - I observed him noting down even the peculiar little wild flowers and herbs that accidentally grew round and on the side of a bold crag near his intended cave of Guy Denzil ; and could not help saying, that as he was not to be upon oath in his work, daisies, violets, and primroses, would be as poetical as any of the humble plants he was examining.
Стр. 174 - But here, — .above, around, below, On mountain or in glen Nor tree, nor shrub, nor plant, nor flower, Nor aught of vegetative power, The weary eye may ken. For all is rocks at random thrown, Black waves, bare crags, and banks of stone...